Screwed
by TrthIsOutThere
Summary: Mulder reacts to Scully's reprimands in Syzygy. He's so screwed. Rated higher just because Mulder drops the f-bomb like 97 times. One-shot.


Just found this one too. I edited it a bit, but there may be a few lingering mistakes or inconsistencies. This was written post-Syzygy. Yeah. The one with Detective White. lol Also...I'm a stickler for tedious facts. The Crucible is mentioned in here. It came out the same year as this episode, only Syzygy aired in January and the movie came out in November...we'll pretend it played out differently for the sake of the moment. haha

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><p>The shots he had downed at the bar had barely begun to take the edge off before he had decided to leave and return to his room. It did began to numb his mind enough against the only true insanity Fox Mulder felt he had come across while in the town of Comity, New Hampshire. It had been years since he last took his father's approach to deal with ludicrous female emotional outbreaks. He didn't want to think about it; getting drunk enough to pass out seemed to be the best way to bypass any over thinking he may stumble upon.<p>

What had he done to warrant Scully calling his "comportment" objectionable? Damn that fucking verbosity. Who cared if she knew a snooty three-syllable synonym for "behavior?" What was wrong with just saying that he is acting "foolish" or "inappropriate?" Someone in the room smelled delicious, he just wanted to pay them a compliment by telling them. So what if the girl's fourteen year old Lhasa Apso died? He was old. Marilyn Monroe had a dog named Tippy when she was a kid. He was shot by her neighbor after he claimed the dog was rolling around in his garden. _That_ is something to cry about.

He rubbed his eyes to clear out the hazy peripherals of his vision as he trudged from the bar to the town's liquor store. At least Comity had one. There had been plenty of cases where he could have used a strong drink at the end of the day and there was no store to be found. He tripped slightly as the toe of his shoe caught a crack in the sidewalk. Coming to a full stop, he turned to look behind him and frowned at the sidewalk as if it had jumped up and grabbed his foot while he was walking past. With a wave of dismissal, he continued down the street.

He had stopped this habit shortly after Scully had started working with him. Once he had begun to trust her with the work that he had been doing, he had someone to share his losses with other than his molly fish. He had never weighed the consequences of what would happen when Scully became the source of his problems though. This was his only other close companion.

Scully. He grimaced as if her name had taken on a sour taste and then snorted derisively. Fine. _Catch your plane back to D.C._, he thought to himself, kicking his foot against the sidewalk, _the X files didn't have any problems getting solved before you anyway_. He finally stopped in front of the local liquor store and looked up at the sign above the door, claiming that he was about to walk into a building that doubled as a convenience store as well. His ire returned as he realized he had partially lost his buzz from the long, cold walk and complete disgust for his current situation.

What the _hell_ had crawled up Scully's ass and died? And how had she managed to get underneath his skin and make him feel so shitty for wanting to tell someone they smelled good?

He groaned and rolled his eyes, knowing full well that she had every right to be angry at his "objectionable and alarming conduct and comportment." But he wasn't about to admit his indiscretions to her. She was wrong too. Her approach to this particular case wasn't exactly impartial or apposite (he knew three-syllable words as well). She had been giving him shit since he mentioned that Dr. Berenbaum's name was Bambi nearly a week before and had been more determined to shoot down Bambi's theories more than she ever had been for Mulder's. That, of all things, made no sense. Why wouldn't Scully accept that UFO sightings could be contributed to cockroaches flying through an electrical field? Even _Mulder_ had to admit her theory held weight after talking to her. Christ, she was so fucking _convoluted_. That one was four syllables. No three. Nope. Definitely four. He smiled triumphantly and pulled the door open.

His eyes scanned up and down the aisles at his choices. Maybe something that tasted horrible? Or just something tolerable that was strong? Maybe both. He wandered up and down the aisles, cursing the store for its limited selection. Tequila, rum, and vodka. No scotch, no brandy. Nothing that he preferred to drink. What kind of liquor store was this? He stopped in front of the tequila and stared at the bottles in front of him, but then shook his head. Reluctantly, he grabbed a pint of vodka and trudged up to the counter, clanging the bottle down noisily in front of the clerk.

"That it?" the man asked, without looking up from his magazine.

Mulder looked down at the man, deciding that he was a dead ringer for Santa Claus. He probably never moved from his stool the entire time he was in the store. Mulder's eyebrows rose slowly. What goes with vodka? Screwdriver. "Orange juice. Do you have orange juice?"

The man motioned to the refrigerated section of the store and muttered something about it being towards the back. Mulder raised his hand half-heartedly in thanks and made his way back to the freezer section. He scanned the doors, whispering, "Orange juice, orange juice, orange juice…" until he found frozen orange juice concentrate. He _tsk_-ed indignantly and turned to the clerk, who had yet to look up from his magazine. "Is this all the orange juice?"

"Yup," the man drawled out, turning the page.

Sighing, Mulder reached in and grabbed the first can he set his hand on and walked back up to the register. The man finally looked up at him and rang up his purchase. Mulder didn't even bother having him relay the total. He threw a twenty dollar bill on the counter, knowing that it more than covered the total, and grabbed his purchases. "Keep the change." He shoved the bottle and can into his coat pockets, setting off for the lengthy walk to his hotel.

He stopped at the front desk and asked for a spoon before ambling back to his room, frowning and muttering Scully's harsh words from earlier that day over and over to himself. He paused as he passed her door and sneered. "How's this for objectionable?" he muttered as he took a backwards step towards his room next door. He rolled his eyes and fumbled for his keys in his deep jacket pocket. He shoved the key in the lock so hard he thought it would break.

Twenty minutes later, he was shoveling orange juice concentrate in his mouth and following it with a vodka chaser. It wasn't much longer until he was dozing off. He awoke later and glanced at the clock noticing it was barely eight-thirty. He sat up and untied his tie, and then swung his feet over the edge of the bed and looked into the orange juice container. It was melted. Sighing he dug the spoon in and shoveled three spoonfuls of concentrate into the vodka bottle and shook it to mix it up. He rested his elbows on his knees and took a swig of the makeshift screwdriver.

It had been two and a half years since Scully had walked into his office. Since then, he had taken her on some dead-end cases, he would admit to that. But even Scully couldn't plausibly deny that nothing was going on here in Comity. These two girls, Margi and Terri, appeared to be at the center of every crime scene. He would admit that Detective White had made a mistake by interviewing the girls together. Investigators shouldn't do that. These girls had something to do with the murders, Mulder just hadn't figured out what yet. Even if this was the work of cultists, or Satan as the townspeople proclaim, there's nothing that says two teenage girls couldn't be at the center of it all. The events of the Salem Witch Trials began with accusations made by young girls. At least according to Winona Ryder.

He shook the mix again, grabbing the remote and taking another pull from the bottle. When he turned the television on he was greeted by the high-paced melody of Aram Khachaturian's _Sabre Dance_. He frowned as the Keystone Kops bumbled their way to a call and flipped the channel, only to be greeted by the same movie. Flipping through the channels, he found the same thing again and again. He pulled the remote close to his face. What kind of trick was the hotel pulling? He shook the remote and then beat it against his thigh before changing the channel again. The movie kept playing.

He took another drink and groaned. Maybe the channel wasn't actually changing. He twisted his arm around, changing the channel several more times at different angles and ensuring he covered all angles that reached the sensor, until a knock at the door forced him to stop. Maybe it was Scully. She would be the bigger person and try to work out whatever wrinkles had popped up between them. He knew he was too stubborn to do it. Maybe, she would say _intractable_. That was a good Scully word. Intractable. Scully would fix everything and despite being _intractable_, Mulder would admit that he had been wrong.

Setting the bottle on the television he glanced through the peep-hole. Every hope he had for Scully to fix the problem died as he saw the clearly upset Detective White standing at his door. He slid the chain out and opened the door.

She sighed and stepped through the door. "Can I come in?" She drops a box on his bed and removes her coat.

Mulder stood dumbly at the door. _No, you're not Scully._ But the words wouldn't form together fast enough. She turned around and folded her jacket over her arm, clearly upset about something. "What happened?" he asked stepping away from the door.

She motioned to the box on the corner of his bed and sniffled. "I found that on my front doorstep," she said as Mulder sat down and lifted the lid off, seeing a blue cat collar sitting on a pad of dried roses. He pulled the collar out of the box, noting the tag had the detective's name and phone number on it. She sniffed again. "If they're not Satanists, who are they?" She took in a trembling breath.

Mulder looked up at her watching as she tried to hold it together. He replaced the lid on the box and set it on the floor, then stood up and walked over to the detective and pulled her into a warm embrace, trying to comfort her. He couldn't do crying. He didn't like when women cried, he had to fix it. Even if it was just about a stupid cat. As he held her close, he caught a whiff of that perfume again. _Ah ha! _he thought. _It was Detective White all along._ He sniffed her collar and felt her tense in his embrace. She pushed him back.

"What are you doing?"

_Oops…_ "Nothing," he said. _I just really like your perfume._

She paused and took in his appearance and frowned. "You've been drinking."

_Clever, observant…_ he groaned inwardly. _Caught. Fuck._ "Yes, I- I have, which is…funny because I usually, I normally never—I don't drink." _What? That made no sense._

She nodded slightly. Shrugging, she walked over to the television and picked up the bottle. He shrugged; what could he say? She tilted her head back and drew from the bottle at length. _Oh, Jesus…_Mulder thought, he covered his face with his hand and messaged his temples. This was not good. He wasn't the only one who had been drinking.

"You know, I don't feel like going home," he heard her say. He looked up over his hand as it drew slowly down his face, watching her kick off her shoes. "Do you mind if I slept here?" she asked as she threw her trench on the bed.

The words were coming too slowly. His tongue didn't want to move the right way. _Fuck, fuck, fuck! No! Scully needs to…I need…Scully and I need to get…Fuck. Another room. Get Detective White another room. Then go find Scully and work this out. Brainstorm. Solve this case…get the fuck out of Comity. _"Actually, I'm sure I could get you another room…" He motioned to the phone and made his way to it quickly. He picked up the receiver and hit "O" for the front desk, glancing over his shoulder as Detective White; the slight panic he was experiencing began to cut his buzz in half. He hit the operator button several more times before he felt himself getting thrown on the bed. _Not good._

The detective was quick. She climbed on top of him before his mind could process what was happening. Her eyes were wild as she straddled his hips and her voice was breathy. She had his arms pinned to the bed. He wasn't going anywhere. "Maybe we can solve the mystery of the horny beast."

Mulder paused. He thought that was a good line, but only if he was saying it. Jokingly. _I'm in such trouble. Where's Scully? _"Maybe we should just watch some television. Uhh…there's, there's a movie on T.V., actually," he said trying to point at the television, where the Keystone Kops were still bumbling about to the sounds of _Sabre Dance_. "It's the same, the same movie on every channel," he said trying to sit up. She looked, but her grip remained strong.

"Weird," she said, and then looked back at him. Her eyes were hungry now. "I like weird." She looked up and her brow furrowed thoughtfully. "I feel weird." Suddenly, she was on him. Her lips capture his.

_Yes, yes, yes! No! Where's Scully?_ "No!" he said. His next few words were muffled. He tried to get his hands to a good leverage point to push the detective off of him. Suddenly, the door flew open.

"Mul…" Scully stopped mid-sentence and the detective rolled off of him.

_I'm so fucked…damn it._ Scully was not happy. She turned quickly, announcing that there had been another death on her way back out of the room. She ran out into the hallway, her door slamming a moment later. Mulder shoved the detective away and clambered into his shoes, trying to fix his tie for a brief moment before giving up and grabbing his coat.

"Where are you going?"

Mulder paused and looked at the detective. She shook her head.

"I'm— I'm sorry," she said, frowning, clearly embarrassed. "I don't know what just happened."

Mulder motioned to the vodka on the television and turned the television off, hearing Scully's door slam again. He closed his eyes impatiently. "Training is required before jumping into the hard stuff." He motioned to her coat. "Did you not hear Agent Scully? There's been another murder."

The detective was up instantly. They ran out of the room after Scully. _I'm so fucked…so fucked. Scully will never forgive me for this one._


End file.
